


all secrets sleep in winter clothes

by marquisdegayaf



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: F/F, M/M, Other, allusions to sex, but they both gay sooooo, implications of abuse, it comes out no pun intended, so theyre dating, starring whizzer: gay mess and cordelia: gay angel, they have the BEST friendship yay, tw for the q slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:48:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 17,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquisdegayaf/pseuds/marquisdegayaf
Summary: 'when i lay me down to sleep i will say a prayer/ that G-d love me so deep he will promise our souls to keep together'chronicling scenes in Whizzer and Cordelia's friendship





	1. winter

They’re holding hands in the park. Laying next to each other on the frozen grass. Laughing. Her hair is brushing his cheek. It’s so cold they can see their breath. She squeezes his hand. He smiles. She pulls him to sit up and they sit face to face, knees touching. They talk about the movie. The dresses. The hair. The makeup. He pushes his nose up to make him look like the leading girl. She giggles. Leans forward. Close. Touching noses. Shuts her eyes. Takes a deep breath.

She has to do it. It’s not like it’ll be that difficult. Three seconds of lips on lips for an end to a lifetime of confusion? Fair trade. She can do it. Anyways, she likes him. A lot. She can do it. She has to do it.

He feels sick. So sick. He has to kiss her. He has to. He has to. He doesn’t want to. He feels sick. He has to. He shuts his eyes. He leans forward a little. Maybe he can imagine she’s a boy? Yeah? No. No boys. He has to kiss her. No boys. She’s a girl and he likes her so they have to kiss. They have to. He has to. He-

They kiss. Her lips are cold. His are warm. He’s shaking. She’s still as a statue. It lasts for one… two… they jump away from each other at the exact same time.

She looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

He looks haunted, terrified.

There’s a beat of silence and then they speak at the exact same time:

“I’m queer.”

“What?”

“You’re-”

“You too?”

“Whizzer?”

“Delia?”

“Holy-”

“-shit!”

They stare at eachother for a moment. Are they gawping? Are they smiling? The moment lasts a minute before he clears his throat.  
“How long’ve you known?”  
“Since nine? You?”  
“Since twelve.”  
“That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.”  
“Me too.” He laughs breathlessly. She is silent. He notices. “Delia?” She’s still silent. “D, what’s up?” She’s looking down. Sniffling. It feels like someone is physically pulling at his heart. He pulls her over. Hugs her close. She hugs back. Buries her face in his sweater. Sobs softly. He holds her till she manages to talk:  
“I thought- thought I could fix it.”  
“I know, honey. It’s okay.”  
“We’re still friends?”  
“Best a’friends, Delia.” He hears the smile in her voice when she speaks again:  
“M’glad.”  
“Me too.” 

There’s a comfortable silence for about ten minutes. She stays with her head on his chest. He stays looking up, watching the stars. It’s cold, but he feels warm. Exhilarated. Saying those two words has made him feel freer than he has in years. He kisses the top of his best friend/fake girlfriend’s head. She smells like the gingerbread she burnt last night. He smiles and looks up again. A shooting star crosses the sky, so he wishes for her happiness. They’ll talk tomorrow, he thinks. He’ll fix it all tomorrow. He’ll be here for her. It’ll be fine.


	2. spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> senior year!!!!!!!!!!!! this one is light hearted boom

“I blew the quarterback.”  
“The quaterback! Our quarterback?”  
“Not our quarterback. Their quarterback.”  
“Whizzer!”  
“Don’t be mad!” 

Cordelia rolls her eyes. Cordelia despairs. Cordelia is a senior and sitting with Whizzer in the girls’ locker room as his chews six pieces of gum at once and she judges him.   
“I’m not mad. Just.... Disappointed?”  
“Don’t mother me!”  
“Because you can talk about not mothering people?” Whizzer smiles sheepishly at that.  
“Touche.”  
“But really. You could’ve blown any boy in the world-”  
“-but he had a rolex!”  
“Not an excuse! We agreed: no high-profile athletes!”  
“However we said nothing about high-profile athletes from other schools.” Cordelia shakes her head. “Anyways… It’s over now. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me for the rest of the meet.” A shadow has crossed his face. She feels bad. She reaches over and ruffles his head.  
“Cheer up, kid. There are other non-athlete fishies in the sea.” He grunts dejectedly. She hops up and takes his hands. “C’mon, guy. Let’s skip next period.”  
“But next period is home ec! You love home ec!”  
“I’ll have more home ec classes. You, however, will never have any more flings with quarterbacks, so this is your only chance to wallow in self pity over one.” She deepens her voice to sound like a game show host: “Will…. You… Take it?!” Whizzer’s smiling again. He jumps up.  
“I will!”  
“To the bleachers!”

They hang out under the bleachers for the whole of fifth period, discussing how much is too much foundation and how no, Whizzer will not steal his bubbe’s old Jewish recipes for Cordelia and how that girl Charlotte Valentine who hangs out in the biology block is kinda cute maybe and how men really are pigs, aren’t they? By the time the bell rings Whizzer’s forgotten the quarterback and his Rolex altogether. He’s lucky, he thinks as they make a mad dash for the math block, lucky to have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit. me . up ......... w those COMMENTS YEET


	3. summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a good summer day with the gays

It’s a burning hot day in July. Scorching. They’re hanging around poolside at Cordelia’s, eating popsicles. His is cherry and staining his tongue. Hers is lemon and matches her bathing suit. He’s dangling his legs in the pool. She’s in the kitchen putting a new record on. He looks up at her house and suddenly feels guilty somehow. He feels guilty because four days ago she was sitting in his room in his tiny apartment above a deli and he feels guilty because that's not good enough for her. What if she minds? He doubts it, but he still feels guilty. There’s something sticky on his hand. He looks down and realises the rest of his popsicle has melted. Yikes. He sucks the syrup off his fingers and shrugs off the guilt as best he can. 

Cordelia puts on a Monkees record before running out of the kitchen with light steps so she can ambush Whizzer and push him into the pool. He squeals and drags her down with him. The mutual screeching ends once they crash into the deep end and silence falls. They let go of eachother after a second. Whizzer opens his eyes and looks at her. She looks serene. Her eyes are shut, her hair is floating around her like an angel’s halo on a stained glass window and she’s smiling a little. The serenity lasts for about half a minute, then they burst out of the surface, laughing and gasping for air. She loops her arms over his shoulders and he doggy paddles around with her on his back to make her laugh. Her laugh is like vocal sunshine and it makes him feel light. They splash around for a bit before crashing onto the side of the pool again, still giggling.

It’s been five minutes of recovery before Cordelia speaks: “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”  
“Charlotte?”  
“Mhm.”  
“You can’t be in love with her! I haven’t met her!” She snorts at that and punches him lightly in the arm.  
“For real, though. When I see her I feel weak at the knees.”  
“Wow.”  
“Like…” Her eyes are a little glazed over as she speaks, “it’s like she’s magic. She walks in a room and it feels like the sun after a storm. Like the end of a marathon.”  
“Geez Louise, Dee. You’ve got it bad.”  
“Yup. And I’ve never actually spoken a word to her.” Whizzer facepalms.  
“You should try! What’s the worst that could happen?”  
“She could call me a dyke and run away?” Damn.  
“Good point.” There’s a sad silence. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.” The silence returns. 

Later on Cordelia's mom and brother get home. Her brother Kyle hugs Whizzer and sticks his tongue out at Cordelia. Her mom Janet kisses him on the cheek and hugs her daughter. Whizzer grins at all of them. He’s fascinated by their dynamics. They watch the beatles on tv together. Her mom asks Whizzer how school is, how yearbook is going. While she does, Whizzer feels guilty again. His dad doesn’t even know Cordelia’s name. She could have better friends. He tries to shrug it off.

It’s dark when he thanks her mom and says goodbye, dark but still hot. She walks him out to the drive and then hugs him goodbye as tight as she can. He tells her to call him even though he already knows she will. He kisses her forehead. He loves her. She’s his best friend and he loves her and he’s lucky.

He walks home. From Brighton Beach to central Brooklyn. It’s an hour’s walk in the heat, but he likes it. He takes Polaroids of the streets, of Manhattan bridge in the distance. He smiles at the angry old men who walk past him. He smiles and takes pictures and takes pictures and smiles. He could take pictures and smile for the rest of his life, he thinks. A boy with sad eyes smiles at him from across the street. He blushes and keeps walking. He thinks about Cordelia and how she's in love. He can’t imagine being fully in love like that. Oh well. He guesses he’ll learn.


	4. fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a misleading chapter

They run through the orange leaves in the park that fall. They have a cartwheel race because it may be their final chance. He wins. She pushes him into a bush in retaliation. He spins around and around in circles, scuffs his feet along the ground, does a roundoff. All the time laughing. He’s childish, she thinks. Childish, but not immature. When she catches his eye he winks and she blows him a kiss. He pretends to catch it. She grins. She loves him. Maybe they’ll stay fake dating forever, she thinks. Get fake married. Make their parents happy. Would she mind that much? After all, she does love him. She looks back at him. He’s chasing the leaves as they fall from the trees, whooping when he catches them. She figures she could spend the rest of her life with him. Have the wedding. The kids. She’d rather do it with him than any other man. Yeah, she figures she could spend her life with him. She flicks her hair out of her eyes and runs over to him, leaves crunching under her feet. He picks her up and swings her around in circles. 

They laugh and laugh, take Polaroids. Climb trees. Act like they’re still kids for one last time because school is finally over. At least that’s the reason gave her. In reality, he’s planning to tell his dad tomorrow. Planning to look in his orthodox-raised father’s eyes and tell him that he likes boys. Wants boys. Loves boys. Loses his head around boys. Only needs boys. What’ll happen? He has a pretty good idea, but doesn’t wanna vocalise it, can’t vocalise it right now. It’ll ruin the moment. He needs this moment. He hugs her goodbye extra tight. Savours the moment, because it might be the last.

He shows up at her house at eleven that night with haunted eyes a battered leather suitcase and unusually long sleeves. His eyes are red. His hands are shaky. The bike his father gave him for his bar mitzvah is in her drive. She holds him close and doesn’t speak, because she understands the virtue of silence at times like this, and because she’s hurting for him. He falls asleep in her bed after hours of sobbing. She stays up and prays for him, but once it’s four am she can’t keep her eyes open any longer and drifts off. When she wakes up it's seven am and he’s gone. Placed neatly on her pillow is a Polaroid. Three by three inches of film. It’s them in the middle of summer with flowers in their hair. He looks golden. She weeps in earnest for all she’s lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine,,,,, if someone drew some of the Polaroids from thsi,,,im not saying you have to im just saying if you did id marry u


	5. another fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> s ad

She’s twenty two years old, living in Manhattan and going to business school across the road from the pharmacy Charlotte works at. Charlotte. She’s soft and sweet and brave and sharing an apartment with her is next to heaven. Sometimes they share a bed. Sometimes Charlotte braids her hair with her clever, precise fingers. Sometimes Cordelia almost plucks up the courage to kiss her, but she never does. She’s lost some of her courage, she thinks one night as she watches the sun go down. Some courage, but no kindness. She’s proud of her kindness. In the morning she makes Charlotte pancakes for breakfast. Charlotte calls her a gem, which makes her feel like she’s glowing. She practically skips to her work at a small bakery.

Work is good. Work is great. She’s always loved baking, and now she can do it as a job. This morning she bakes lemon melts and sings love me do to herself as a kind of prayer. Maybe Charlotte will hear it all the way from the pharmacy, realise that Cordelia’s all she needs, run down to the bakery, sweep Cordelia off her feet and dress as a man so they can get married. Wouldn’t it be lovely. Cordelia sighs and carries on folding in the lemon juice. 

That night is a perfect warm fall evening. Charlotte and Cordelia sit on a their balcony and smoke menthols. Laugh over the antics of Cordelia’s regulars. By midnight the radio is on and they’re tipsy and dancing. Cordelia feels dizzy with sheer smittenness. She spins and bops and giggles and Charlotte watches with a wide soft smile. An hour later they’re in Charlotte’s bed, lying facing each other. Talking. Edging closer. Touching noses. Foreheads. Cheek to cheek. Kissing- Kissing? Kissing! Kissing! They’re kissing! Cordelia’s on fire. Joyus.

Then it stops and Charlotte's hyperventilating and shaking and Cordelia tries to help but Charlotte shrinks away. Cordelia is frozen. Cold. Shell shocked. She backs away. Out of the room. Into her room. Lays in her bed and sobs bitterly all night.


	6. on the fence in the sun

The next day she blocks out the night’s events. She makes herself a coffee just in time for her break to begin, walks up to central park and sits on a bench in the winter sunshine, drinking her coffee. She takes cream and five sugars. Her sips are minute but big enough for the coffee to fully warm her up inside. She smiles and looks around, watching the kids play and dogs tire themselves out and… And who’s that?

A boy is standing in profile about ten metres away from her. He has soft, chestnut brown hair which has clearly been relaxed but is curling back up a little. His coat is dusty pink and well fitted, but a little ragged. His skin is smooth, but purple circles are clear under his brown eyes. A poorly-concealed dark red hickey is visible under his chin. His sleeves are long. He’s twenty one. His middle name is Marisol. Cordelia is short of breath. She feels like she can’t move. She sits still, stunned, frozen because Whizzer fucking Brown has pulled a Lazarus and he’s standing right there and-

She’s lifted off her feet, into the air, spun around. She’s smelling sandalwood and rosewater and home. She holds on with all the her strengthen, unable to speak, unable to make a sound. There’s a damp spot on her shoulder. His tears are stinging her skin and she’s crying too but it’s okay. Everything is okay. Whizzer’s back and everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'And the clouds will roll by  
> And we'll never deny  
> It's really too hard for to fly'


	7. the sea she will sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> good gay shit

“She freaked out?”  
“She freaked out. We haven’t spoken since.”  
“Oy vey, Delia.” He says, sounding like his father. He’s sitting on a counter in the bakery, picking at the misshapen danish pastry she’s given him. They’ve slipped into their usual gossiping like nothing’s happened. It’s natural.  
“Oy vey indeed.” She mumbles before channelling her feelings into the dough she’s kneading, shoving her nails into it. They’re painted pastel pink and a little chipped, but she’s too emotional to care. She flips the dough and looks over at Whizzer. He’s nibbling the corner of his pastry like a rabbit. “Do you wanna milkshake instead?” She asks with a little smile. She knows he’ll say yes. He’s always adored milkshakes. He opens his mouth to say yes, but closes it again.  
“Nah, thanks. This is lovely.” He takes a proper bite out of the tart to illustrate his point. She can tell when he’s lying, of course she can, but doesn’t have the energy to pull him up on it right now.

“So what’re you gonna do about it?”  
“What?”  
“Charlotte!”  
“Oh I- I don’t know.” He raises an eyebrow.  
“You gotta do something, Dee. You live with the girl. Can’t avoid her.”  
“You’re right.”  
“Want my opinion?” He says, as if they don’t both know that he’s going to give it anyway.  
“Sure.”  
“Talk to her, hun. You gotta. She wouldn’t have kissed you if she didn’t feel something.”  
“I guess not…”  
“Well I know not. Talk to her, or you’ll regret it. Good relationships are founded on communication.”   
“Thanks, mom.”  
“Shuddup.” They both laugh. “For real, though. Go home tonight and have a dang conversation. Even if it’s scary. You’ll manage it.” His voice is level and calming. Like always. She feels clear. Starts kneading again with more power and optimism. Whizzer hops off the counter and sits up next to her to watch her work. 

They stay chatting for another hours until Cordelia’s shift end. She asks if he wants to come over. He politely refuses, explaining that he lives in Soho these days and it’s a major schelp back there from the Upper East Side, and that he doesn’t wanna increase the tension. He walks her home, though. He’s nothing if not a nice jewish boy. She gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek goodbye. Passes him a pink post-it note with her address and phone number on. He boops her nose and tells her he’s missed her. She smiles. Squeezes his hand. Makes him promise to call. Takes a last long look at him, turns tail and runs into her apartment.

Charlotte's sitting at the kitchen table, tapping her foot. Biting her lip. Nervous. Her hair is a little messier than usual. There’s a pencil behind her ear. Her eyeliner is slightly uneven. She flashes Cordelia a tiny, shaky smile. Okay. So she doesn’t hate Cordelia. That’s a start. Delia sits down opposite her. Charlotte takes a deep breath-

And they talk.

Is Cordelia… A dyke? Yes. Is Charlotte? Maybe. She thinks so.  
Is Cordelia angry at her? No. Is Charlotte angry at her? No. Not angry.  
Is Charlotte okay? She’s not sure. She doesn’t think so. She explains her childhood, looking at girls and feeling wrong. Explains that she freaked out because she thought she heard her mother’s voice when she kissed Cordelia. There are tears in her eyes. Cordelia takes her hand and listens. In moments she’s crying and Cordelia is biting her lip to hold back sobs of her own. She strokes her thumb over the other girl’s knuckles. Nods encouragingly. Smiles sadly when Charlotte looks like she needs a smile. When she finishes talking, Cordelia asks if it’s okay for her to hug Charlotte. She says yes. They hug for ten minutes, then there’s a tiny watery kiss. It’s sloppy, it’s shaky, it’s longing, it’s perfect. 

Everything’s coming up Cordelia.


	8. give me a second face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this b sadish. tw for references to violence and sex

He gets home. ‘Home’. The hostel. His room. Four metres square with a single bed and a rusty sink. His first room of his own. Most gays his ages would piss themselves to look at the peeling wallpaper and damp ceiling, but Whizzer loves the independence. He shins up three flights of stairs, sprints down the corridor, murmurs a hello to the queers smoking weed in the doorways, turns a sharp corner and opens the door marked ‘3BQ: BROWN, W’ in wide blue letters.

He sits down on his bed (it creaks massively), pulls his long-sleeved sweater off and starts massaging coconut oil into his forearms. He has three circular cigarette burn scars on the left side and scratches on the other side. He runs his fingers lightly across each arm. He does it every evening. He supposes it's a ritual. A reminder. Not that he needs any more reminders about Brooklyn now that Cordelia’s back. Delia. Seeing her in the park was like coming home to a home he’s never really had. Talking to her was like putting on a comfy old sweater for the first time in years. He feels warm inside for the first time in years. He sticks the post-it she gave him above his tiny mirror and smiles. Finally, he pulls a thrift store khaki shirt, jeans and his glasses on and starts arranging his portfolio.

At six thirty a bell rings and Whizzer joins the descending rabble for dinner. There are four long tables and the around three hundred nineteen to twenty five year old queer kids sit bolting down matzo ball soup. Whizzer drinks the broth and leaves the balls, because no one ever makes them as good as his bubbe did. And because he’s watching his weight. Because there’s no money in being a fat gay. He chats with Maddy, a guy a little older than him with blonde hair and an empty smile. Maddy’s from Tennessee and he fucked his way over to new york. Whizzer’s impressed until he realises Maddy’s checking him out. He excuses himself. There will be no fucking of boys from the hostel, because he’d had to see them every day for as long as he stays there. The hostel isn’t great, it’s cold and crusty and packed to the rims, but the rent is fifty-five a month and easy to make. He has to count his blessings. 

He washes up in the communal shower and wakes till dark to walk down to Holland tunnel, hanky in his back pocket. It’s a cruel necessity, he thinks. A cruel necessity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lgbt+ youth hostels are amazing,,, i run drives for the one in my city and its wonderful


	9. another winter

It takes time. Time and trust. Three weeks of building up the courage to kiss for longer, cuddle at night, hold hands. It’s new and it’s overwhelming. But it’s amazing. Subtle, but amazing. Cordelia feels like she's flying. Flying so high that it's a shock when the landline rings at two. She wriggles out of her girlfriend’s arms and tiptoes over to the dresser with the phone atop it. She picks up and whispers:

“Valentine-O’Malley residence?”  
“Dee?”  
“Whizzer?”   
“Hey.” He sounds so far away. She can tell that something's up instantly. “Can- do you have a car?” No, bad she can drive and Charlotte has a morris minor.   
“Yeah, why?”  
“Can you maybe pick me up? There was some- trouble at the place I’ve been staying and now I don’t have anywhere to stay-”, his voice cracks, “I’m sorry i just-”  
“No, it’s okay. Where are you?”  
“Just off spring street.”   
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  
“I’ll wait.”  
“Cool. Be safe. See you soon.”

She hangs up, scribbles a note for Charlotte and bolts out of the door. She throws herself into the car, revs the engine and speeds out into the city. It’s dark and quiet and she gets to spring street in twenty minutes flat. The scene is crazy. A couple hundred kids line the street, shivering in the bitter winter’s cold, huddling together for warmth. Some of them are clutching rucksacks and suitcases, some have duffle bags, most have nothing. There’s a crowd around the end of the street, and as Cordelia gets further down she can smell burning. She turns off at the end, slows down and sticks her head out of the car. Whizzer’s easy to spot, sitting poised as usual atop his suitcase wearing the same dusty pink coat he was a while ago. It’s not winter appropriate. She makes a mental note to get him to buy a new one. She honks the horn and he runs over before hopping into the shotgun seat.

“Good morning!”  
“Morning. Thanks for picking me up.”  
“It’s nothing. What the hell happened here? Where’d all these kids come from?”  
“Some skinhead torched the hostel.” He’s been staying in a hostel? How did she not know that? “I suppose that’s what you get for putting a ‘gay friendly’ sign in your window.”  
“Geez Louise.”  
“Mhm.”  
“Do you want me to drop you somewhere?” She asks softly. He looks embarrassed.  
“I- ah- Don’t have anywhere to go.” He’s staring at his feet. She feels awful.  
“That’s fine! Come stay at my place for a bit!”  
“I don’t wanna be a bothe-”  
“-Whizzer. You’re never a bother, okay? And besides, we got a spare bed now…” His eyes light up at that.  
“For real? Y’all are-”  
“-Together!”  
“Holy shit, Dee!” He reaches across to hug her, “that’s amazing!” She giggles and hugs him back.  
“Yeah. It’s pretty perfect.” He’s grinning at her as she speaks, excited for her.  
“So I finally get to meet this girl!”   
“Yup. She’s at med school to be a doctor. Super smart.” He wriggles his eyebrows at that,  
“And super rich super soon, if she’s boutta be a doctor!” She rolls her eyes and punches him in the arm.  
“Materialist.”  
“You got me there.” They both laugh as Cordelia drives through the night. Pull up outside her apartment. She carries his suitcase in and they tiptoe into Cordelia’s old room. 

The room is painted light pink and the covers and furniture are an even lighter yellow. The post-it Whizzer left Cordelia when he skipped town three years ago is stuck on her mirror. He notices it quickly and walks over. Gazes at it. To him, it feels like it was taken decades ago. His eyes are bright, his smile is wide and he looks so much… Clearer. He’s overwhelmed with nostalgia and fernweh. And guilt. Guilt for leaving so suddenly. He sighs. Looks back over at her. She’s watching him. He tries to fake smile, but there’s no point faking to her.   
“You okay?”  
“Tired.”  
“Me too. Get some sleep, kiddo.” She says, gesturing to the bed. He thanks her again, blows her a kiss and starts opening his suitcase. She says goodnight and leaves him be. He pulls on his khaki shirt and sleeping shorts, rubs the oil into his arms, climbs into bed and tries to sleep. His legs hurt. His hair smells like smoke. He’s exhausted. But it’s okay. It’s okay because this room smells like Cordelia’s mom’s house. Like home. Not like the hostel. Not like the shelter. Not like the doorway he slept in for a month a few years ago. Like home. He falls asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG IF U WANNA SEE THE POLAROID ON CORDELIA'S MIRROR TUMBLR USER TRANSWHIZZER DREW IT AND I ACTUALLY SHED TEARS???????!!!!!!!! HERE IT IS: http://transwhizzer.tumblr.com/post/156000517719/kinda-messy-but-jewishdelavega EXPERTS ARE UNSURE IF I WILL EVER BE THIS HAPPY AGAIN? thank u so much


	10. gutn morgn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short chapter,,,,,, marvin approaches

That morning is a sunday and Cordelia's making breakfast. Waffles. Whizzer’s sitting curled up in a kitchen chair, cradling a huge cup of coffee. They’re not speaking, but Whizzer’s humming something soft and it’s all good. When Charlotte finally comes downstairs Whizzer jumps up to hug her hello and get a look at her. They hit it off. She’s cool with Whizzer staying, of course she is, she’s amazing. Whizzer only eats half his breakfast, but it’s an improvement. They chat about the hostel, about the kids there, Charlotte’s super interested. Cordelia drinks hot chocolate and basks in the glory of the scene. 

He has a new camera. An SLR, it’s called. Better pictures, less expensive film, he says. It took him two and a half years to save up for. Next he’s saving for a super 8. Does he have a job? Not right now. He’s looking. Cordelia promises to help. He feels uncomfortable accepting help. He doesn’t say so. Is he dating anyone? It’s like talking to his bubbe and her friends. No, he’s not. He has regular screws, but no boyfriend. Nothing steady. When he was nineteen he had Carlos, tall, funny, Carlos with the dark eyes. They lasted for five months before tall, funny Carlos put his fist through a wall and Whizzer took the fuck off. There was Simon, with the red hair and the soft kisses and the coke for three months. Kieron. David. Ezekiel. And more. But that’s all done. Over. In the past. He moves on quickly, but he misses being intimate in non sexual ways. Cuddles. Holding hands. All that faggy stuff. He’d never admit it. So yeah, he’d like boyfriend. Charlotte says there’s a boy training to be a nurse at her med school who she’s pretty sure is queer. Cordelia says Charlotte’s pretty sure any boy who takes the slightest bit of care of himself is queer. They all laugh. Charlotte and Cordelia kiss quickly. Cordelia looks like she’s on the verge of tears with happiness. Whizzer likes it here.


	11. someone just came in the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter a marvin

There’s a boy. A man? A lot older than Whizzer. With old eyes. Old eyes and soft dark-colour cardigans that never match his shirts. Some days incorrectly-fitting suits with mismatched ties. He comes into Cordelia’s bakery (where Whizzer is working now as challah expert) some days and Whizzer feels all fluttery whenever he sees him, although he despairs of the guy’s fashion sense. The guy comes in, buys tiger bread or challah on fridays, tips well, smiles awkwardly at whoever’s serving him and leaves. When he does, Whizzer hovers by the entrance to the oven room, listening in. Cordelia rolls her eyes at him. The fourth time it happens, the guy sees him and Whizzer, in an unusual move, bolts the fuck away, into the proving room where Cordelia punches him in the arm and tries to push him back out there. He squeals and dodges away from her. Leib, his manager, tells him that that guy asked who the hell he was. (“Who was that kid?” “What kid?” “The kid who was just in the doorway!” “Oh, him? He makes the jewish food.” “Right. Is he here a lot?” “Most days, why?” “Oh, no reason.”) Whizzer feels so many things. Nausea. Vertigo. Excitement? Maybe. He practically skips into the prep room to tell Delia. She’s as excited as him.

The next Friday Lieb puts Whizzer on the counter and pats him on the back. Tells him to get out there while he can. Whizzer likes Lieb. He’s the one old queen Whizzer wouldn’t mind ending up like. Kind and moneyed. That’s a life he can get behind. So Whizzer’s up from five in the morning, arranging the loaves and warming up the shitty espresso machine. He likes counter service, likes talking to the regulars and sweet old lady and being complimented on his hair and eyes and (once) teeth (two years of braces paid off. That was a dark time.) Today an old dude with a rabbinical beard says Whizzer would be a great match for his daughter, if he got a better job. Whizzer takes that as a compliment. A girl of about twelve in tznius blushes when she asks him for some poppy seed bagels, please and thank you. A mother of three asks him to hold her baby for a moment. It drools on him. And then, just as the mother leaves and the bakery is finally empty for the first time since half six, the guy walks in. The Guy. 

He’s wearing an argyle sweater and black slacks (an atrocious combination), brown shoes and a gold magen david. Awful. Whizzer’s heart flutters. Does the guy want challah? He does. Not the poppy seed one, though, his mom is allergic. Whizzer worries for a moment that the guy still lives with his mom and the guy must see it because he confirms that his mom is merely coming for shabbas dinner. Whizzer breathes a sigh of relief. They make small talk about the weather and the bakery and when Whizzer turns around from bagging up the guy’s order he catches him staring. He raises an eyebrow. The guy blushes. It’s cute. Whizzer introduces himself. Is that his real name? Whizzer says yes. Whizzer lies. The guy says it suits him. The guy’s name is Marvin. If it was any other guy Whizzer would be snarky and ask if that’s his real name, but for some reason he loses all his sarcasm around this guy. It’s odd. Marvin’s an investment banker. Very square. That guy from earlier should pair his daughter off with Marvin. Whizzer tells Marvin about his photography. Marvin seems interested, surprisingly. Maybe he’s just being nice. They chat a little longer until a little beeper on Marvin’s watch goes off and he has to rush away. He tells Whizzer he’ll see him soon. Whizzer blurts out that he hopes so. Marvin laughs. Whizzer waits until Marvin’s out the door to cringe with his entire body. Cordelia emerges from the shadows to hug him and laugh at what a dork he can be.

Later on he cringes about it further over dinner. Charlotte calls him a dork too and asks if Whizzer’s gonna make a move on the guy. Whizzer says he would rather jump off a cliff. Charlotte and Cordelia flick him in the arm at the same time and tell him to make a move next week or they’ll do it themselves. He says he’ll think about it and leaves his friends alone to make out. He goes into his room and develops a few reels of film. There’s some nice shots, one of the sunrise from the balcony in his temporary room, one of Charlotte’s eyes, warm and brown in the midday light, one of Cordelia dancing at the kickback they went to last week. He’s been staying with them three weeks now and remembering that consumes him with guilt. Sure, he plays a third of the rent and cooks meals and helps with chores, but he still feels a little bad. He’ll move out soon. He takes out his siddur, prays for his friends and for his dad and for clarity and then goes to bed. He has a dream that he’s fallen down the stairs and he’s laying at the bottom of some stairs as everyone he knows walks over him. When he wakes up he’s in a cold sweat so he thinks about Marvin and for some reason that’s calming and he falls asleep in record time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is bad lads,,,,,, comment if u l ike


	12. little birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the stuff

Whizzer and Marvin fuck for the first time in a public bathroom a week later. They’re laughing slightly the whole time and it’s hot and sweet and Whizzer’s glowing for a whole week afterwards. Marvin starts coming in to the bakery every few days. Whizzer gets all the baking done at five am so that he can be on counter duty for his whole shift and talk to Marvin. They find out more about each other. Whizzer tries to open up more. It barely works, but at least he’s trying. Whizzer finds herself smiling more. Laughing more. He almost feels okay.

Meanwhile, Cordelia worries. She worries and worries. She worries that Charlotte doesn’t really like her. She worries that Charlotte works too hard. She worries that she’s not good enough to work at the bakery. She worries that her mom is faking acceptance. She worries that her brother is lonely at home in Brooklyn. She worries that Whizzer’s not telling her what he was doing in the years where he wasn’t in touch with her. She worries a lot.

She lays up at night, worrying. Staring at the ceiling. Biting her lip. Pacing the kitchen in the small hours, drinking tea, worrying. The thoughts fill up her mind, her throat, her lungs. One night she ends up sobbing on the tiled floor because she realises that in a hundred years she’ll be dead and she can’t fathom it. She worries and cries and cries and worries and Charlotte sits with her on the floor and holds her and strokes her hair until the worrying stops and Cordelia can breathe again. One night she has to sleep in Whizzer’s room like they would when they were kids because everything has changed so much so fast and it’s so scary and she can’t breathe. He says with the most love in the world that she needs to take a damn break. She’s working five days a week and studying the other two and she needs to take a hiatus or she’s gonna snap.

The next Friday Marvin goes into the bakery to buy challah and leaves with an offer to come to Brighton Beach for the weekend with Whizzer and his lesbian friends. He’s a little stunned, but smiling. Maybe it’ll be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments r only reason i live


	13. clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> work it oooooooout

And it is fun. It’s a cold winter weekend, but still fun. At least the first day is. They all walk along the beach, chatting and laughing. Whizzer and Cordelia skim stones expertly. Marvin and Charlotte try and fail. Cordelia runs too close to the tall waves and gets soaked. She tries to run it off, her hair flying in tendrils behind her, but it doesn’t work. She runs ahead of everyone else, long strides, loving the feel of the wet sand on her feet and the sea breeze on her face, laughing. She looks around. Some of her best memories are on this beach, it’s just five minutes from the house she grew up in. When she was little she’d chase the waves with Whizzer but as they got older it became a place of Even More Importance. She kissed someone for the first time on this beach. She saw Whizzer cry for the first time on this beach. She came to this beach the night her parents split and cried alone until her mom found her. She keeps running as memories flood her conscience. Home and school and friends and family and boyfriends and girlfriends speed through her mind until she accelerates once more and breaks into a sprint, almost as if she’s running away from all these preoccupations. She notices a groove in the sand coming up and decides to vault it. She jumps, falls and lands on her back. It knocks the air out of her.

Suddenly Charlotte is there, fussing over her and asking if she’s alright. She can faintly hear Whizzer doing his concerned Jewish mother of three voice and Marvin awkwardly asking if there’s anything he can do, but somehow she’s blocking them all out. She’s smiling. The noise in her mind has stopped. Somehow the beach and the sand and the waves and the memories and the fall have brought… clarity. She feels herself again. She feels like her body is her own again. She composes herself, sits up, kisses her girlfriend, uses Whizzer’s sweater sleeve to get upright again and smiles at all of them. She’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man,,,, i feel like these chapters recently have been awful,,,,,,,,, i dont know if i should keep writing this


	14. bristling and ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im love the p ain

It's odd sleeping in a proper bed with Marvin, instead of a hotel or bedsit or just fucking in a bathroom. Odd, Whizzer thinks, but nice. On Friday night, the first night they're in Brighton, they fuck and then both pass out, but on Saturday night they sleep together properly. No sex. Lying facing each other. Legs tangled together. Whizzer wants to talk, wants to make Marvin laugh and listen to Marvin's weird stories about work, but Marvin's somewhat preoccupied. Distant. Whizzer tries not to worry. Whizzer fails and worries regardless. 

Is Marvin okay? Yes. Why wouldn't he be? Whizzer shrugs, apologies, pauses then tries again: does Marvin not want to talk? He says he's tired. Whizzer pretends that he's not a little wounded. Whizzer pauses, then tries again. Marvin rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated noise. Is Marvin mad at him? Marvin sits up and hisses that he isn’t, so why don’t they just fuck and go to sleep? Whizzer says he doesn’t wanna fuck right now. Marvin makes the same pissy noise and turns back over, so he’s facing away from Whizzer. Whizzer feels cold. And sick. And sad. He falls into an uneasy sleep.

When he wakes up he can hear the sea. It’s gentle and soothing and there’s no obligation to be up, so he closes his eyes again with a smile. His eyes abruptly snap back open when he remembers the last night’s events. He’s too sleepy to be properly anxious, but still on edge. He feels a hand in his hair and turns over. Marvin’s tousling his hair and smiling softly. Just like nothing happened. Whizzer plays along, smiles back and mumbles a greeting. Marvin kisses his forehead and gets up to go shower. Whizzer feels a little better, though still unsettled. 

He sits up. Stretches. Rubs his eyes. Rolls his shoulders back a few times. Tries to forget, to repress. He kicks his legs off the bed and stands up, then rolls his eyes because Marvin’s clothes are on the floor, not just his pajamas but his clothes from the day before. Whizzer sighs and starts picking stuff up and folding it. One shirt. One jacket. Pyjama bottoms. A tshirt. Finally, he picks up the pair of jeans Marvin wore yesterday. And something falls out. Clatters to the floor. Lies there, shining. Oh Jesus. It’s a ring. A wedding ring. A motherfucking wedding ring.

Whizzer feels unreal. Like he’s not in his body. He can’t move, can’t speak, can’t cry, can’t do anything but stare at the ring. Marvin’s married. He’s fucking married. Whizzer feels nauseous. Nauseous and dizzy. Marvin’s married. To a woman. Whizzer’s a fucking curious phase to him. Whizzer’s been lied to and messed around and he wants to scream. He feels like the walls are closing in on him. He picks up the ring. It’s engraved with Marvin’s name and Marvin’s wife’s name. Trina. It’s a pretty name. Whizzer’s about to puke.

He hears Marvin walk back into the room. Turns around slowly. Marvin’s just wearing a towel. Whizzer holds up the ring for him to see. Whizzer pushes back the tears. Whizzer bites his lip. Marvin raises his voice, asks Whizzer what right he has to be mad about this. Whizzer raises his voice back, throws the ring at him. Marvin suddenly bolts toward him, grabs his wrist, shouts so loud that Whizzer shrinks back into himself. Uses all his strength to pull away and dart out the door. Then out the front door. Down to the beach where he collapses onto the sand and sobs.

When he gets back to the house two hours and a half later with bloodshot eyes and a sore throat Marvin is gone and Cordelia’s waiting in his room. She opens her arms and he hugs her and starts crying again. After ten minutes she speaks softly: “What happened?”  
“He’s married.”  
“Oh… Jesus.” She whispers. Whizzer rubs his eyes.  
“I don’t care.”  
“But you do.”  
“But I don’t Delia. It’s-”, he sits up and takes a deep breath, “-fine. I’m fine.”  
“But you’re not.”   
“It’s okay. Really. I don’t care about him.”  
“Honey…” She trails off. She can’t vocalise to him how important it is for him to be open about his emotions right now. She can’t. So she sits with him until the worst of the crying is over. He’ll be okay. She knows he will.


	15. another spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> read the notes at the end!!

Time passes. Whizzer moves out of Char and Delia’s, into a small shitty apartment of his own, still in SoHo but all his. One bedroom. One bathroom. Solitude. Stability. Heaven. Time heals all wounds, they say, and that may be true. Over time the bruises on Whizzer’s wrist from where Marvin grabbed him fade. Over time he stops the nightly crying because he feels so cheated and so raw inside. Over time he toughens up, stiffens. Tries not to be soft, because after four years of being taken advantage of by men he knows that softness is weakness and he doesn’t want to be weak anymore. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore. 

That spring he quits his work at the bakery and gets a job. Assistant to a celebrity photographer so highly strung that Whizzer genuinely believes he may snap like an overstretched elastic at any second. The guy bursts through the double door of the studio at five minutes past eight every morning with the look of a man who’s seen hell, a five shot coffee and a screech of ‘we have so much to do!’ Fortunately, he takes a shine to Whizzer (‘you got this spark, kiddo, this-this-this-spark! You’re gonna be great!’) One day Dusty Springfield walks into the studio and Whizzer has to hide behind a stack of film so he can compose himself to greet her. She shakes his hands and he nearly dies on the spot.

That night is shabbat and Charlotte and Cordelia come over for dinner. He’s made mujadara, which Charlotte gives her full sephardi stamp of approval. He’s pleased with himself. He raves about Dusty Springfield for an hour after dinner. Cordelia nearly screams when he tells her. Charlotte goes out to have a smoke in the light of the march sunset. Whizzer and Delia lay on the couch, drinking wine and talking.  
“Whizzer?”  
“Delia?”  
“Are you happy?” That’s a loaded question. Whizzer thinks about it. Thinks about how much he’s changed just in the last year. Thinks about everything he’s been through since he left Brooklyn.  
“No. But I’m nearly there. What about you?”  
“I’m…” Cordelia thinks. About the year. About the good stuff: finding Whizzer again, about Charlotte, about being three months from graduation. And the bad stuff: the Marvin incident. Her weird episodes. The panic. The fear. She thinks about it and then speaks: “...I’m getting there, too. I don’t- I don’t think it’s as easy as ‘oh, you’re either perfectly happy or perfectly miserable. It’s a spectrum, I think.”  
“That’s true.” They both nod. Then look at each other. Whizzer boops her nose. “I’m glad you’re getting there.” She grins at him:  
“And I’m glad you’re nearly there.”

They grin at each other as the rest of the light finally fades away. One Polaroid is taken that night: its of Whizzer and Cordelia, leaning on each other in their sleep. Peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically,,,, if i made a playlist with like,,, one song that i think fits every chapter of this fic,,,, would u guys like that???
> 
> also: would y'all like it if i made some posts on my tumblr about this universe,,, with backstories and stuff??? 
> 
> please comment and tell me whats good!!!! im counting on yall!11


	16. INTERMISSION

this chapter is gonna be a lil intermission if you will, where i put extra stuff relating to this fic:

here's some backstory http://jewishdelavega.tumblr.com/post/156261927119/fun-facts-about-whizzer-charlotte-cordelia-and

Here's a playlist with one song for each chapter from 1-17!! Idk how to make it a proper thing people can listen to but if someone can ill marry them!!!

1\. freckles and constellations // dodie  
2\. let her dance // bobby fuller four  
3\. daydream believer // the monkees  
4\. wigwam // bob dylan  
5\. oh comely // neutral milk hotel  
6\. fly // nick drake  
7\. here comes my baby // cat stevens  
8\. the mirror blue night // duncan sheik  
9\. sleep // kimya dawson  
10\. oh darling (instrumental) // the beatles  
11\. ring of keys // instrumental  
12\. cry baby // the nbhd  
13\. this time tomorrow // the kinks  
14\. little birds // neutral milk hotel  
15\. a better son/daughter // rilo keily  
16\. Intermission  
17\. I am waiting // the Rolling Stones


	17. another summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hap hap hip hop

So time passes. So she graduates with honours. So she has a beautiful wonderful girlfriend who, in two years, becomes a doctor. So she has an amazing best friend who runs around the city photographing it’s best and brightest who she is so, so proud of at all times. He came to her graduation and jumped on his chair and screeched with all his might and sobbed with joy because he was so proud. He is so proud. So it’s the summer of 1978 and she is the happiest she’s ever been. So she cycles round the city on Whizzer’s old bike which they finally got out of hoc. So she gets promoted at the bakery. Head of production. So she’s pleased with herself. So she’s happy. So she watches him grow and change. So she watches him come home at four in the morning, limping. So he hasn’t had a proper boyfriend in four years. So he shrinks into himself if any guy tries to properly flirt with him. So she still harbours some resting resentment for A Certain Man. But it’s okay. Whizzer will be fine. She’s not sure when, but she’s sure he will.

She goes for jogs around central park in the summer sun. Watches the world spin. Smiles at the kids who gawp at how long her hair is. It’s down to her hips now and still the brightest natural shade of blonde. She loves her hair. She sprints across the centre of the park and then does some stretches under a tree. She sits down on the grass and looks up at the sky. There’s no clouds. She feels so clear. 

That night she lies in bed with Charlotte, being cuddled and cuddling. Charlotte is pressing kisses to the side of her cheek. She’s laughing. Life is good. She turns over, pecks Charlotte’s lips and shuts her eyes. She feels good. She feels real. She’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live off comments instead of food


	18. another autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marvin rise

The leaves are falling again. Crunching under his feet as he walks home. The lower half of his body is in agony, but there’s two benjamins in his pocket so he can deal with the pain. Photography doesn’t pay well enough, he thinks. He shouldn’t have quit work at the bakery. Ah well. That’s in the past. No use getting preoccupied. It’s three in the morning and he’s so tired. He works an eleven hour day and then does… Things at night, so he’s constantly tired. He realises he forgot to go shopping this week and sighs. He’s rubbish at remembering stuff like that. He’ll have nothing to eat when he gets home, and he hasn’t eaten all day. Ah well. It’s probably for the best. He can’t get fat.

He gets to his building. Tries to run up the four flights of stairs to his apartment, but has to walk after a few steps. Opens the door. There’s a tupperware box on his kitchen table with a note on it. It reads: ‘you need to go shopping more… here’s this to tide you over! get some sleep! love you lots from dee xxxx’ He smiles weakly and opens the box. It’s kita fitfit, so Charlotte must’ve given Delia her nonna’s recipe book. He sits down, says shehakol and eats. It’s fucking delicious, spicy and warming and wonderful. He makes a note to thank Delia profusely when he sees her, which will almost definitely be tomorrow, stretches goes to his room, strips off, pulls on a second hand dress shirt a million sizes too big for him and gets into bed. He lays, staring at the ceiling. Hurting. It’ll pass. He needs to sleep or he won’t be able to work tomorrow, so he drinks a third of a bottle of NyQuil and passes out.

He wakes up at eleven the next day and nearly punches himself in the head when he sees the time. Considers his options. Gets up, calls in sick and gets back into bed. He never misses work, so getting off is easy. He justifies himself because hey, he’s still hurting down there. 

At midnight he gets a call. He stumbles over to the landline and picks up. A voice which brings his heart into his mouth echos down the line. A voice which makes him feel burning and freezing at the same time. Marvin’s voice. Whizzer feels like he’s high. Or crazy. Or both. Marvin is asking if Whizzer wants to come over, and like a stupid docile little puppy Whizzer says yes. Of course he says yes. Because when Marvin says jump Whizzer will always say how high. Marvin tells him the address and Whizzer’s there in half an hour because… Why? Because Whizzer feels amazing around Marvin. When Marvin opens the door to his huge ass house Whizzer feels the hairs on his arms prickle up and his heart race. Marvin grins, that same stupid awkward smile Whizzer fucking loves, and pulls Whizzer inside. Kisses him as soon as the door closes. Cups his face and tells him he’s missed him. Whizzer says he’s missed Marvin, too. Marvin kisses him again and he’s laughing a little as he does. It’s the most alive Whizzer’s felt in a while.

They fuck on the couch like teenagers, Marvin mumbling the most awful (amazing) stuff in Whizzer’s ear and Whizzer grinning the whole time. After that they watch tv and it’s like nothing ever happened. Whizzer’s laying on Marvin’s chest, tranquil and smiling softly. Marvin’s not wearing his wedding ring. Whizzer asks what this house even is. Marvin tells him it’s the house he shared with his wife. Who he has divorced. And his child. Who is eight. Whizzer can barely process it. Marvin asks if Whizzer maybe wants to stay at the house for a while and, like a stupid docile little puppy, Whizzer says yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments. r love


	19. ease my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dis short

“You said yes?”  
“Yep.”  
“So you’re moving in?”  
“Yep.”  
“Whizzer!”  
“What?”  
“He’s a jackass!”  
“He’s not!” Cordelia crosses her arms at that. Whizzer gives her an imploring look and speaks: “he’s not, Dee. Really. He’s done jackass-y things, but he’s a good person.” Cordelia doesn’t look convinced. “C’mon, Delia! It’s fine!”  
“If you say so, boysie.” She says, sounding like her mother.  
“Don’t do that, please? I promise you it’s alright. It’s just for fun.”  
“If you say so…” She’s still dubious. He leans his head on her lap from where they’re sitting on the floor, taking a break from packing up Whizzer’s stuff.  
“It’s fine, Dee, I promise. It’s all fine.”  
“Promise you’ll tell me if it isn’t?”  
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” They link pinkies like they’ve been doing since they were five and six and say their prayer over it. It’s still a binding contract to them, even after all this time. It puts Cordelia’s mind at rest. Whizzer moves in with Marvin the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some stuff to the intermission chapter!!! Check it double deck it!!


	20. turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is too long and too sad, some would say much like my life

Marvin’s kid is great. Jason, his name is, and he’s the smartest kid Whizzer’s ever met. Bright as a button, as Whizzer’s mom would’ve said. Marvin has Jason for three and a half days every week and his wife, Trina, who has lovely hair and dresses and for some reason hasn’t punched Whizzer in the fucking head yet, has him for the other three and a half. Marvin works eight hours a day five days a week, so on wednesday thursday and friday Whizzer picks Jason up from school and makes him and Marvin breakfast and dinner. 

Jason takes a shine to Whizzer, like most kids to. Asks him who the hell he is. What his real name is. Where he’s from. Who his parents are. Who his friends are. What his job is. If he’s a fag, like Jason’s dad. Whizzer answers the questions honestly, because he thinks lying to kids is despicable: He’s Whizzer Brown. His real name is Micah Marisol Matos, but Jason mustn't tell his dad that or ever call Whizzer by his birth name. His parents are Abram Matos and Josie Louise Brown. He’s from Israel and Brooklyn. His friends are Cordelia O’Malley (the lady who bought over cookies) and Charlotte DuBois (the lady who let Jason hold a real surgery knife). He was a photographer, but he can’t be anymore because he’s gotta look after Marvin and Jason (‘like a girl?’, Jason asks. Whizzer doesn’t answer.) He supposes he is a fag, if that’s what Jason wants to call it. Jason is satisfied. 

Sometimes Whizzer thinks he’s too young for this shit. Twenty five is way too young to be a domestic queen, he thinks. He should be out there fucking shit up. Telling it like it is. Fighting the patriarchy or the self hating queers or the police or whatever needs to be fought. Instead he’s cooking meals for some breeder and his kid. Smiling constantly. Reading. Drinking tea. Doing laundry. Making shabbat dinner for everyone every second Friday. Everyone includes Trina and it’s utterly forced and awkward, but Marvin insist on it. They sit in silence. Sometimes Jason acts out so he can be excused. On Saturday Whizzer goes to shul. Trina goes to the same shul, but walks as far ahead of Whizzer as she can. Marvin thinks he’s too smart for religion. The fourth month that Whizzer’s a part of the unit it’s saturday and Whizzer and Trina are walking to shul. Trina’s ten steps ahead. Whizzer’s yarmulke falls off. He cringes with embarrassment as the bubbes walking by click their teeth at him, reaches down to get and when he straightens up Trina’s standing in front of him, armed with bobby pins. She fixes his yarmulke and they walk the rest of the route to shul together, talking about challah recipes. They walk back to Marvin’s together, too, and Trina even flashes him the world’s smallest smile when she says goodbye. Marvin berates him for buying into that religious garbage when he gets in, but he doesn’t mind. Jason asks if Whizzer will play chess with him. Whizzer says sure. They play for three hours. Jason is ecstatic.

Seven months into the situation Whizzer has basically conditioned himself into not minding this routine. He convinces himself that he doesn’t miss running around in the city. He convinces himself that he doesn’t miss taking pictures of things other than sunrises or sunsets over the same trees. He didn’t realise one could get bored of a sunrise. 

Nine months in he starts snapping. Telling Marvin to pick up his own damn clothes, do his own damn laundry, make his own damn dinner. Marvin retaliates, snaps louder, with more force. It’s an endless game of tug of war, and Whizzer is always the one who ends up on his ass after the other lets go of the rope too soon. But he’s still soft with Jason. Tries not to let on that anything’s wrong. Whizzer will never be a father, but he will make sure that Jason isn’t fathered the way he was. 

Ten months in Whizzer beats Marvin at chess and something snaps inside Marvin. Whizzer thanks the Divine Creator that Jason isn’t home, because Marvin goes ballistic. Screams at Whizzer. And sure Whizzer puts up a fight, but he can’t for long. He cries. Hears his own voice crack and quaver when he tells Marvin to just leave him alone. To stop trying to make him into something he’s not. To give him a damn break. Marvin pauses, looks at Whizzer for a long moment then walks out of the room. He comes back with Whizzer’s battered old suitcase. Whizzer throws it at him. Marvin throws it back, harder. Screams at Whizzer to get out of his fucking house and stay out-

There’s a knock on the door. Marvin hisses at Whizzer to stay upstairs and answers the door. It’s Trina. Oh Jesus. Whizzer stands frozen, listening to Marvin screech at Trina and Mendel, the shrink, try to get Marvin away and then, finally, the sound of skin on skin. A hit to the face. Whizzer feels it, too. It pushes him into action. He shoves everything he owns (which is much less now than when he arrived somehow) into his suitcase, closes it, bolts down the stairs and through the hall and out the door so fast that no one can catch him. And runs. And runs. So fast that it hurts his throat. So fast that he can think nothing except that he has to get away. So fast that when he crashes onto the ground in the park his head is spinning and he can’t breathe. He shuts his eyes. He has nowhere to go. No family. No friends, he hasn’t see Charlotte and Delia in months, no home, no money. He’s back where he started: as a skinny kid out too late in central park, wandering around with nothing. He’s come full circle and he can’t take it. It’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments>food


	21. wrapped in white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sad happy sad is it sad or happy im so tired

Charlotte loves her work. She loves the clean white walls, the smell of disinfectant, the moments of calm between patients. She loves the nurse she works with, Davy, with the big smile and floppy hair. He makes her smile on the worst days, the days when there’s even more blood, the days when she loses people, loses children, loses young girls with families waiting outside. It only happens one or two times a week, but when it does it’s like all hell has been let loose in Charlotte’s mind. Everytime she does she locks the door to her office, takes out her siddur and says the mourner’s kaddish for the person who's died. Technically she shouldn’t, but it calms her. She has to stay calm, she’s a doctor.

Her shift is fourteen hours today, from twelve to one. The afternoon is fairly quiet, a few broken legs and a couple of sprained wrists, but it becomes more hectic as the night begins. Alcohol poisoning at ten pm? Crazy. A coke overdose at eleven? Mad. She saves them all. She saves a kid who ran his car into a wall. She feels fine. Then, at midnight, Davy bursts in and tells her there's a kid who's heart’s failed in room sixteen so can she get up there as soon as possible, please? Charlotte speed walks up there. Heart failure…She’ll pump whoever it is with beta blockers, if this is the first time. They'll be alright. Probably an anorexic. She’ll prescribe blockers, food and therapy, get the kid to a clinic and check up in two months. She’s well practiced in that, and saving anorexic kids matters to her after growing up with five sisters in a household where insecurity equaled normality. She takes a deep breath, puts on a smile and walks into room sixteen. 

She stifles a gasp when she sees who’s lying on the gurney with the iv in their arm. It’s Whizzer. She feels sick. He looks drained. Like all the life’s been sucked out of him. His skin is still dark, but there’s somehow no colour to it. His hair has been neglected so much it’s nearly curled back up into its natural ringlets. His brow is furrowed, even in his sleep. Charlotte doesn’t let her shock show. She’s a professional. She asks Ally, the junior doctor, what’s up with him. She says they’ve done some scans and it was a murmur, not a failure. Charlotte thanks HaShem under her breath. She checks him over. It’s weird, lifting his arms up and down like he’s a doll or something. Like he’s not real. She feels sick but maintains composure. She deduces that the murmur was a one-off, probably due to a mix of his anaemia and the dangerously high fever he’s running. His heart will be okay, but they have to break his fever or else. She tells Ally and Davy to get some ibuprofen into him and put as many compresses, takes a moment to breathe and watches them work.

His fever breaks after half an hour. She mumbles ‘baruch atah adonai eloheinu melech ha'olam, hatov vehametiv’ to herself when it does. They pump him full of morphine to sleep the rest of the danger off. Charlotte calls Cordelia and tells her there’s an extraordinary incident and she has to stay on until it's in the clear. She doesn’t tell Cordelia that it’s Whizzer. She won’t be able to work if she knows her girlfriend’s scared.

She stays sitting up for hours, treats a few more poisonings and overdoses, asks Davy for news about the hyperthermia buy every five minutes, taps her foot with worry. At four am he wakes up. Charlotte wants to rush in, but she has to wait while Davy does the routine checks. She stands in the doorway until the nurses leave, then walks in. He’s sitting up, looking tired and bewildered. He hears her steps and looks over. When he sees her his jaw drops slightly and she half-runs over. Pulls him into the tightest hug possible. She can feel his bones when she does. He’s shaking, apologising profusely. She hugs him even tighter, leans her forehead on the top of his head, tells him it’s okay, mumbles that he mustn't ever do that to her again into his ear.

The next afternoon Whizzer moves back in with Char and Delia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments. r good. get some sleep tonight i care about u


	22. getting so much better all the time

He spends one year recovering and one year getting back out there. 

She spends one year worrying and one year full of pride.

He spends one year weak and pained and one year getting his smile back.

She spends one year sleeping soundly knowing that he’s close at hand and one year calling him every night to check that he’s home safe.

He spends one year terrified at the concept of having nothing to do and one year starting to do things again. Work. Photography. Listening to music.

She spends one year fuming and then, in the second year, moves in next door to the person she’s been fuming at. 

He spends one year trying to get over himself and one year trying to get over him.

She spends half a year turning her back. Exchanging words with the kid sometimes, but treating the father with as much contempt as she can.

He spends two years getting calls every week and refusing invites to baseball games, chess matches. He always finds a reason.

She spends the other half of the year gradually letting the father in. Slightly smiling at him when she sees him in the mornings. Telling him shabbat shalom on fridays. By the end of the second year she’s been to his house four times and watched the kid after school about seven times. 

He spends the second year dating around. One boy is kind and Whizzer runs when he tells him he loves him, one boy is angry and Whizzer runs when he raises his fist. There are quite a few angry boys. His shrink tells him he falls for versions of his father. Whizzer stops seeing his shrink. Whizzer stops dating around. He pours his heart and soul into his photos instead.

By the end of the second year she’s sure he’s okay. He’s smiling more than he has in years. She’s so, so proud.

By the end of the second year he stops making excuses. He’ll come to a baseball game in the new year, he promises. It’s hanukkah and he’s lighting candles with Charlotte’s family, who are the sweetest warmest people he’s ever met (bar Delia’s family) when he realises what’s happened. He’s worked it out. He’s gonna be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything. i write is awful aaaaaaaaghhhhhhhhh


	23. another summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter act two marvin.

He goes to Jason’s baseball game. It’s near central park. He played a game there once in high school. He’s late, of course, and can hear the bleacher-wide groaning. He takes a deep breath, puts his shades on and walks into the venue. Jason’s next in line to bat, looking nervous as hell, Whizzer tries to catch his eye but can’t from the level he’s at. He’s gotta go up onto the bleachers. He takes a few shaky steps up and instantly sees Charlotte (screeching at the ref) Cordelia (already waving at him) Trina (looking radiant, happier than he’s ever seen her) Mendel (yelling something about how jews can be good at baseball) and… Marvin. Marvin looks.... Different. Older? Older. Softer? Sort of. Less angry. There’s less of an edge to the way he holds himself, less aggression in his eyes. Looking at him makes Whizzer’s stomach turn somersaults. His heart rushes. He runs his hand through his hair, casual as all hell, reminds himself that Marvin’s deranged and walks over.

Trina looks a little shocked, but pecks him on the cheek nonetheless. Mendel claps him on the back. Char and Delia hug him. Marvin shakes his hand. It’s awkward. Fortunately Jason on deck now, so Whizzer can sit down next to Mendel, in front of Marvin, who makes some smartass comment about Whizzer’s hairline. Whizzer fires back with something about wrinkles. Marvin grins at him. Whizzer grins back. For a moment it’s like no time’s passed. Remember he’s nuts, Whizzer. He turns away again. Mimes how to hit the ball to Jason, who’s waving to him. Marvin asks for Whizzer’s number. Whizzer goes to say yes. Jason hits the ball. The bleacher erupts in cheers. Jason hit the ball! Whizzer turns away from Marvin and screams with triumph and pride. Everyone’s cheering and screaming. Jason’s forgotten to run. Whizzer couldn’t care less, and neither can anyone else. They run as a six down the bleacher but Whizzer gets her first. He picks Jason up and spins him around. Jason’s hugging back so tight Whizzer can barely breathe, but he still manages to laugh. They don’t need to say aloud that they’ve missed each other. They know each other too well to have to say it out loud. Marvin pats them both on the back and it’s just like nothing’s happened and it’s so freaking odd. But nice? But nice. They all go to the nearest diner post-game, to celebrate Jason’s ‘victory’. Everyone gets waffles, except for Whizzer who sips some diet soda and picks at the strawberries from Delia’s waffles. She gives him a pointed look which he brushes off. Whizzer keeps looking over at Marvin and keeps finding Marvin looking back at him with something indescribable in his eyes. Whatever that look is, it makes Whizzer giddy.

The look is there when Marvin walks Whizzer home that evening. He insists on it, even though it’s super out of the way. Whizzer pretends he minds. They talk as they walk. What’s Whizzer been up to? Photography. He doesn’t tell Marvin about therapy. What’s Marvin been up to? Therapy, he says. Whizzer tries not to gasp. Marvin, being honest about his feelings? About his issues? Geez. Marvin says he’s on meds. Whizzer tentatively tells him that he’s seen a shrink too. Marvin flashes him a surprised smile. They smile awkwardly at each other again and Whizzer feels like he’s twenty two and crushing on Marvin again. Is he crushing on Marvin again? Jesus Christ. He suddenly feels sick. He’s making the same mistake. Marvin’s going to hurt him. That’s what Marvin does. That’s what all Whizzer’s Men do. He feels so sick. It must show, because Marvin stops walking. Whizzer stops too. Faces Marvin. Marvin tucks a stray curl behind Whizzer’s ear and asks if he’s okay. Whizzer nods. He can’t speak. This is all so much. Marvin stutters a little, takes a deep breath and does something he’s never done before.

Marvin apologises. 

He apologises profusely for every little thing. Every microaggression, every mutter of ‘bitch’, every snap, every whine, every outburst, every push into the role of homemaker, of mother, of girl. He says that what he did was wrong. He says that he wants to fix it, but that if Whizzer never wants to see him again then that’s okay, too. Whizzer feels like he’s dreaming. His tongue still feels frozen, but he manages to stammer out that he’d like to be friends, at least. Marvin nods with a small, genuine smile. Thanks Whizzer. Asks if Whizzer really wants Marvin to walk him home. Whizzer says yes. Of course he does. They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence. When they get to Whizzer’s block Marvin goes to turn away, but Whizzer takes him gently by the hand to stop him. Grabs a felt tip pen from Marvin’s top pocket. Writes his number on Marvin’s hand and tells him to call, please. Marvin says he will. They both do an awkward shuffle-almost hug-nearly kiss-finally handshake, then both laugh at how dumb they can be. They say goodbye. Whizzer falls asleep that night with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen,,,,,,,,, i honestly feel like this is awful............ comments r always noice


	24. whole and happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy happy

He’s never done something this slow before. Something this calm. It happens over entire weeks. Proper dates, to the fair and the movies and coffee shops and even proper fancy restaurants. Walks home and quicks kisses goodbye. Holding hands, once it’s dark enough. Whizzer takes Marvin to the stonewall inn. Marvin looks like a kid at purim the whole time. Halfway through the night one of the queens pulls Whizzer up to dance, which he does. Marvin watches the whole time, grinning and laughing, all the while with that soft look in his eyes. The queen spins Whizzer around, dips him, kisses his cheek (leaving a purple lipstick mark) and sends him to sit back down, which he barely manages to do due to dizziness. Marvin giggles at his expression and presses a kiss to his temple. Whizzer’s happy.

He’s never done something this soft before. Something this gentle. And Marvin is gentle, these days. Never too loud, never too rough. Undoubtedly himself, but softer. The first time Marvin stays over at Whizzer’s he asks if it’s okay for him to share the bed. Whizzer’s not sure, so he says not tonight. Marvin goes sleeps on the couch. At four in the morning Whizzer wakes up from a nightmare, almost runs to the front room and onto the couch. Marvin stirs. Opens his eyes. Asks Whizzer if he’s okay. Whizzer shrugs. Marvin slings an arm around him, pulls him close and falls back asleep. He snores a little. Whizzer doesn’t mind. Whizzer falls asleep fast. Whizzer’s happy.

He’s never done something that makes him feel this good before. Something this beautiful. He eats properly for the first time in forever, three meals a day. They’re still small, but they’re there. Some days he has snacks. It’s beautiful. He stops being so skinny. He’s still svelte, sure, but his cheeks are a little softer. His eyes are less misty. His ribs don’t stick out. He doesn’t look so fragile. It’s beautiful. He looks in the mirror and feels pretty. Feels beautiful. Whizzer is so, so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments :))))))))
> 
> also, listen to this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFFlyNzvAeY


	25. another summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything will be alright ! everything will be alright !

Jason goes to the same school Cordelia’s brother went to. A secular private school. Kyle had an academic scholarship, same as Jason does now. She feels nostalgic for her school days as she walks down to the school with Whizzer on a tuesday afternoon in spring. It’s her night to watch Jason, but Whizzer’s tagging, of course. He’s walking behind her, snapping pictures. She’s whistling. Suddenly he calls her name and she spins around to see what’s wrong, there’s a click of a shutter and then Whizzer emerges from behind the polaroid camera, grinning. She rolls her eyes at him and continues to walk. He walks beside her, shaking the film like a tambourine. Once it’s developed he holds it up to her like he’s five again and showing her one of his crayon drawings.

Admittedly, it’s a beautiful picture. Cordelia is suspended mid-turn, head facing the camera and body turned slightly, her hair like a stained glass halo around her face. He’s managed to catch a bush of yellow roses behind her. They offset her pink dress. Her expression is neutral, but there’s a slight glint in her eyes. She looks luminescent. He takes out a biro, scribbles ‘dee, going to pick up j // 6.4.81’ on the bottom of the film and passes it to her. She sticks it in her front pocket. There’s a moment of peace, then they hear the end of day bell go off at the end of the road and sprint to make sure they’re not late.

They get to the front gate of the school and stand aside so as not to be crushed by the onslaught of screeching eleven to thirteen year olds. Jason comes careering round the corner, greets them (‘hiya, doda ‘delia! Hey, Whizzer!’) and asks if they can go play chess in the park. Whizzer and Cordelia, as the soft step-father and godmother, say yes to that and yes to ice cream and yes to soda and yes to that new David Bowie tape and yes to those new headphones. Whizzer and Delia sit on the park bench, watching Jason get a checkmate in two moves against some poor kid and eating ice cream.

“Do you think we’re too soft on him?” She asks. He shrugs.  
“Someone’s gotta be. He can’t spend all his time in the hothouse.”  
“True.” She turns back. Jason is close to beating a scrawny ginger kid about five years older than him. He’s staring the kid down, moving his pawn without looking at it. The kid looks like he might piss himself. Cordelia feels a surge of pride. The kid makes a move, and suddenly his knight is close to Jason’s king. She’s on the edge of her seat, and realises that Whizzer is too. Jason frowns. Lifts his hand. Cordelia holds her breath. And then suddenly click-clack-click and Jason has the ginger kid’s king and Cordelia and Whizzer both yell out in triumph. Jason screeches with joy, throws the king in the air and runs for a victory lap of the park. Whizzer cheer him on. Cordelia shakes her head at both of them, then stands up, hugs Whizzer from behind and speaks:

“I used to think we’d have kids together.”  
“Really?”  
“Really.”  
“I thought it was just me.” He mumbles.  
“Nope... I just assumed we’d be each other's beards forever.”  
“Me too.”  
“Do you think we’d ‘ve been happy?” He pauses once she says that, then takes a deep breath and speaks:  
“...maybe. I’m not sure. You can’t miss what you’ve never had, I guess.”  
“That’s true.”  
“But… I’m glad that we’re where we are now, y’know?”  
“Yeah, I know. Now is… Good.” Just as she says that Jason finishes his victory loop and runs over to hug her. She hugs him back softly, pinches his cheek and tells him it’s hometime. 

They walk back to Charlotte and Delia’s in a line, Jason and Whizzer chatting about baseball cards and Cordelia fiddling with the s, looking polaroid through Whizzer’s pictures from today. One of her, one of the sky, one of Jason on his run, one of an abandoned chess set, one of the tape and headphones, one of Jason and Delia hugging and one of Jason’s sneakers in the sun. They’re perfect snapshots, she thinks. Pitch-perfect crystal-clear segments of the day. She’s in awe of them. She writes captions on all of them in Whizzer’s favourite ‘subject // date’ format, then carefully puts them away and joins in on the conversation. 

She spends the rest of the evening watching tv with Jason and listening to Whizzer playing piano next door. Charlotte comes home at eight and is so great at dealing with Jason that it makes Delia’s heart soar. Maybe they’ll adopt when they’re older. She’d love kids. As she thinks that Whizzer swings into ‘love me do’. His voice is clearly audible through the red brick wall, strong and cheerful and beautiful. He splits it into a ragtime style and she can hear him laughing as he does. She hums along. She knows he knows she’s humming, even if the piano’s too loud for him to hear it. He finishes the song with a mad crescendo, all lows and highs and riffs, skids his fingers across all the keys and ends. She claps her hands and whoops until she can hear him laughing and thanking her through the wall. 

Marvin picks Jason up at ten. Jason hugs Char and Cordelia goodbye and (after a pointed look from Marvin) thanks them for picking him up and for dinner. Marvin asks Delia if Whizzer’s home. She tells him yeah he’s in, playing piano. Marvin’s face lights up. He thanks them and swans off, Jason in tow. Once they’re gone Charlotte and Cordelia high-five as a celebration of being Really Great G-dmoms, kiss quickly and run into the den so as not to miss M*A*S*H. Charlotte falls asleep with her head on Cordelia’s shoulder. Cordelia is enamoured. She toasts herself and her family before drifting off to sleep with a smile on her face. All is well.


	26. another (final) winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohohoho

That winter is the bitterest in years. The sky is constantly grey and cloudy, the temperature never gets to integers, the fountains in central park are frozen over and when Whizzer looks out of the window in the morning he can see frost on the neighbouring rooftops. He goes for long walks around the park, day and night. He’s started getting cold symptoms, from letting himself be too cold for too long, but it’s a small price to pay for pictures this good. In the day he takes landscapes, winter skies and frozen flowers and ice on the fountains, and at night he takes portraits of the cruisers. Most of them know him, so they let him photograph them. Some are rude and tell him to fuck off. He takes them with high exposure. Lots of flash. It makes them look washed out. Captures the emotion behind their eyes. One night he asks a guy leaving a restroom if he can get a photo and the guy gawps at him. Whizzer goes to apologise and make himself scarce, but the guy stops him. Tells him that the last time they met Whizzer was seventeen and scrawny and cried after they fucked. Whizzer almost laughs. He tells the guy that yeah, it’s been a while. Asks the guy how he is. The guy says that he’s getting by. Asks Whizzer how he is. Whizzer says he’s domestic. The guy’s shocked. They both laugh. The guy wishes him luck and lets Whizzer take a photo of him. It’s a neat, sharp portrait of the guy laughing. Whizzer likes it. He asks the guy for his name, captions the picture ‘ernest, an old friend? // 11.19.81’, shakes the guy’s hand then walks home. 

Marvin’s not home yet. Working overtime. Whizzer pulls his coat off, stick a supremes record on and hops onto the couch. He picks up the landline and dials Marvin’s work. Asks his secretary, a cute nineteen year old called Dora, if Marvin’s in. She passes Whizzer over. Marvin sounds tired as all hell. Whizzer asks if he they can just get chinese for dinner. Marvin’s too exhausted to disagree. He tells Whizzer he’ll be home in half an hour. Whizzer tells him to go easy, hangs up and looks for a menu. He orders a tonne of garbage, hangs up, flips the record and then coughs. Ouch. It feels like his lungs are burning and he can taste something metallic in his mouth. Must be the cold. He gets a drink of water and tries to ignore the residual taste in his mouth. Dances a little more. Sticks the tv on. 

Marvin gets in ten minutes before the delivery guy. Whizzer greets him by running to the doorway and practically jumping at him. He kisses the bridge of Marvin’s nose, then both his cheeks. Marvin pecks Whizzer’s lips and leans his forehead against his boyfriend’s. He’s visibly drained as hell. Whizzer tells him the food will be delivered in a moment. Marvin grunts affirmatively and collapses onto the couch. Whizzer laughs at his level of lethargy, then gets the door when the bell rings. He grabs the food, pays the kid who’s carrying it, shuts the door, hops onto the couch and passes Marvin chopsticks and a box of noodles. They watch ‘the man who fell to earth’ and eat in front of the tv, a luxury they can only enjoy when Jason’s not with them. They don’t do it when he’s there for fear of setting a bad example. Whizzer rests his legs on Marvin’s lap. Marvin objects. Whizzer ignores said objection. Marvin rolls his eyes at him, but there’s affection behind it. 

They go to bed at a reasonable ass hour. Half eleven or something like that. Whizzer makes some ‘woe is me’-esque comment about being domestic. Marvin snorts. Whizzer gets them both peppermint tea and they drink it in bed while talking about absolutely nothing. Marvin falls asleep in half an hour. Whizzer gets to sleep at one, but he doesn’t sleep remotely peacefully. In fact, he barely sleeps. At two he staggers out of bed and involuntarily pukes up the day’s worth of food. That’s not blood in the sick, is it? Nah. it’s just the light. He washes his mouth and hands, disinfects the toilet and goes back to bed, but at half three he’s up again. Coughing. He sits on the bathroom floor with the door shut, so the coughing doesn’t wake Marvin. The metallic taste in his mouth is back. He washes it out again. Uses mouthwash six times. Takes some nyquil. Maybe it’s the flu instead of a cold. Whatever. He’ll be fine. He gets back into bed and passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i grind up nice comments into a fine powder, add water until they become a paste and then consume the paste. the paste sustains me. give me paste material.


	27. two headed boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho

Weeks pass. Jason’s Bar Mitzvah is impending. Whizzer’s cold is still knocking about. Marvin’s stressed about the stupid party. Whizzer tries to get him to calm down. Trina calls Whizzer a G-dsend. Cordelia’s overjoyed to be catering for the Bar Mitzvah. Mendel is sweet, but incompetent. Charlotte is worried all the time and Whizzer doesn’t know why. Jason is trying his best. Whizzer is caught up in the middle of it all. Happy to be there. 

It’s two weeks before the Bar Mitzvah. Whizzer and Marvin are playing racquetball. Whizzer’s trying not to cough. He’s pissed off. He can’t play properly for some fucking reason. His racquet feels heavy as all hell. He shrugs it off and serves. Fucks it up. Marvin laughs at him. Whizzer flips him off. Manages to return a shot. Misses the next. And the next. And the next. Swears. Rolls his eyes. Flounces and pouts and whines in his usual manner. There’s something black in front of his eyes. It hurts. He blinks a few times until it goes away. Takes a deep breath. Forces himself to keep playing.

One set down. A few to go. Whizzer loses. Whizzer loses. Whizzer loses. Whizzer feels sick. Whizzer coughs. Whizzer swings. Whizzer coughs. Whizzer’s head swims. Whizzer’s brain feels bleached. Whizzer’s eyes cross. Whizzer can’t see. Whizzer can’t see. Whizzer’s legs give way. Whizzer cries out in hebrew for his mother. Whizzer hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u will never hate me as much as i hate myself xx


	28. how strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'i just want to swallow up and promise to protect them'

She’s not real. She isn’t. Nothing is real except the feeling of her sneakers on the linoleum floor and the deep, gnawing nausea in the pit of her stomach. She runs down the hall, round a bend, past Charlotte’s office, straight to intensive. Her heart seems to be trying to escape her chest. He’s sick. He’s sick and he must be so scared and she’s not there. She’s always been there and now, when he really needs her, she’s not there. She’s gonna throw up. She runs faster, skids to a halt at intensive, pushes the double doors open so hard that they smash against the door frame behind her and accelerates along until she gets to hall fifty seven. Her eyes are blurred, but she manages to focus on the scene in the waiting room. 

Marvin’s hovering by the door to the unit. Trina’s got her hand on his shoulder. Mendel’s holding Trina’s hand. Jason’s sitting on a plastic bench, gripping Whizzer’s Polaroid camera so hard that his knuckles have turned painfully white. Cordelia chokes out a question: where is he? Everyone turns to look at her. She catches her reflection in the window. What does she see? A girl. A woman. A lithe, spindly woman with wild, windswept hair, tear-stained cheeks and a pained, harrowed, panic-stricken look in her eyes. She’s grown. Oh Jesus, she’s grown. Trina walks over. Puts an arm around her. Whispers that they’re doing an emergency blood transfusion, that they don’t know how long it’ll be. Cordelia feels weak at the knees. She grabs onto Trina for support, pushes back her tears, feels the bloody rawness in her throat. Marvin walks over to her. Tries to put his hand on her back. She shrinks away. Covers her face with her hands. Drops down onto the bench beside Jason. She looks over at him but instead of seeing his face sees a bright flash. Jason has taken a Polaroid of her. She can’t bring herself to object.

She sits on that bench for hours. She bites her lip till it bleeds, so that she remembers she’s real. Everyone else come and goes but she stays. Waiting for him. Trying to breathe normally. Trying not to lose it. Charlotte comes out after two hours. Kisses Cordelia’s forehead. Tells her he’s out of danger for now. Cordelia can breathe again. Can she see him? Not yet. Immediate family only, says the nurse.   
“He doesn’t have any immediate family. There’s just- just me.” The nurse says something, but Delia doesn’t process it, just understands that she can’t see him. She’s not allowed. She’s gonna be sick. She realises that Marvin is sitting next to her. Jason is gone. She can’t speak to ask where he is. Just leans on Marvin and sobs. 

At midnight they let her in. She practically jumps onto the gurney to hug him. He’s so fucking weak. She’s so fucking terrified. Her face is buried in his hospital shirt. He still smells of sandalwood and rose water. He’s smelt like that since he was five years old. She weeps for the five year old who she can still see hiding somewhere in his eyes when she looks up at him. He blinks hard and the mist over his eyes lifts. He recognises her. Opens his mouth, then closes it again. Leans his head against her chest and falls asleep. His breathing is ragged. She wants to stay with him, make sure he’s safe, be there when he wakes up, but she hears something outside. She kisses his temple (it’s burning up) and walks out the bedroom. 

Marvin is sleeping on the plastic bench, dark circles under his eyes. Mendel and Trina are back. Charlotte is praying in the corner. The atmosphere is almost unbearable heavy. Suddenly the double doors swing open again and there's a new figure in the room all of a sudden. A tall, muscular man with a rabbinical beard and wild eyes. Cordelia chokes on her own breath. It’s Whizzer’s dad. All the blood rushes to her head. She stands up. Call’s out Whizzer’s dad’s name in a hoarse, raw voice. He looks over at her and there’s a moment of eye contact and recognition before Cordelia, calm collected peaceful Cordelia, lunges at Whizzer’s dad. Claws at his hair, his face, beats her fists against his chest, screams that this is all his fault, all of it, that he has no right to be here. He’s yelling back, trying to push her away but she just grabs harder, hits harder, screams more. Marvin is awake and trying to pull her off with the help of Mendel. She shrieks one more time before letting them carry her into the next room. They sit her down on the floor. Mendel rubs circles on her back and counts her breaths. Charlotte comes running to hold her. She sobs into her girlfriend’s shirt until she passes out from exhaustion, both emotional and physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im demotivated i need the comment


	29. penultimate moments

Two days later is the eve of the Bar Mitzvah. Whizzer’s no better. He knows he’s no better. Everyone seems to be convinced that he’s a little better. He doesn’t wanna shatter their illusions. He can’t remember his middle name. He doesn’t tell anyone. Doesn’t wanna make it worse for them. 

And it is awful for them, really. They try to hide it, but he sees it in their eyes. Sees it in the sharp intakes of breath Trina thinks he can’t hear. Sees it in Marvin’s lingering touches to his arms, his face, his lips, as if he’s trying to hold him down somehow. Hold him back. Stop him leaving. Sees it in Mendel’s soft, pitious smiles which last for just a moment too long. Sees it in the way Charlotte holds his hand when she takes his blood pressure in the morning. Sees it in the look Jason gives him just before he closes the door last thing at night. Pained. Like he has something important to say, but somehow can’t articulate it. Whizzer knows that look well. He’s seen it a million times in Jason’s father. Delia, though. She’s the worst at hiding it. Sure, she keeps it up most of the time, perching on the edge of his bed and insisting on feeding him mouthfuls of kugel or babka and stollen with her same old sunny smile, but she can’t do it all time. Sometimes the smile cracks, like when she catches his eye just before he falls asleep, or when she sees him laugh properly. Sometimes she has to rush out, Charlotte close behind her, and take a breather. He feels like hell for putting her through this. Oh well. It’ll be over soon. 

He doesn’t care. He’s not scared. It was always inevitable. He’s not scared. He doesn’t cry at night when he’s sure Marvin is asleep. He doesn’t sob like a baby when Delia’s mom comes to visit and tells him she’s proud of him. He doesn’t grip onto Marvin’s arm and beg him not to leave just before he has to go in for another transfusion. He doesn’t scream into his pillow when he’s sure nobody’s about to walk in. He doesn’t stay up until five in the morning, worrying that he’ll be cut off from G-d’s people when he’s gone, like his dad always said he’d be. He doesn’t. He’s not scared. He’s not scared. 

So it’s the bar mitzvah eve and he’s pretty sure Marvin’s asleep, so he’s got a moment to breathe. A moment to shut his eyes and try to process the idea that he will be gone soon. Dead. He puts his hand on his heart and tries to imagine it not beating. He feels sick. Just as he feels a sob build in his throat Marvin stirs and sits up. Takes in the image of his boyfriend, familiarising himself with the concept of dying. Feels more than a little ill. Whizzer notices him staring. Cringes. Apologises. Tells Marvin to go home, to not worry, that he’ll be fine. Marvin pulls him close. Tells him to go to sleep. Kisses the top of his head. Starts waxing poetic about how wonderful it is that they love each other. Whizzer tries to be dismissive. Whizzer fails. He can feel his spine against the mattress. He hasn’t been this thin since he was twenty. It’s ugly. He feels ugly. He tries to forget being ugly and focus on Marvin. Marvin’s hands. Marvin’s eyes. The smell of Marvin’s cologne on his stupid ugly cardigan. Whizzer loves the stupid ugly cardigans. Whizzer loves the stupid awkward smiles. Whizzer loves Marvin. He whispers it as he thinks it, in hebrew and then in english. Marvin says it back. Whizzer forgets how terrible things are, just for a moment. 

Just as the moment is ending, Charlotte and Delia appear. Walk as fast as they can to the bedside. Cordelia effectively pushes Marvin off the bed so she can lay next to Whizzer (‘I dated him for longer than you, I’ve earned this!’) and cosies up to him. Marvin leans on Charlotte, who punches him in the arm in a most supportive manner. And they talk. About what? Nothing. Happy nothings. Whizzer feels like they could be at a kickback or at home right now. Feels better than he has in days. Delia has her arms wrapped around him and is holding on with a vice-like grip. He tells them all the story of the first time Cordelia went to shul. She tells them the story of teaching Whizzer to knit and how the hat he made looked like a dick. They’re not the best stories, not the funniest, but the space needs filling and Whizzer and Delia hate the quiet.

They stay like that for a few hours, then it’s bedtime. Hometime, for Charlotte and Cordelia and Marvin. Whizzer doesn't want them to go, but he can’t articulate it. He’s so tired. So fucking tired all the time. Delia gives him one last warm safe vanilla scented hug and Charlotte pats his cheek. He wants them to stay. They tell Marcin they’ll wait outside. Marvin kisses him once, twice, three times. Tells Whizzer he loves him. Whizzer’s too tired to say it back, so he taps his own heart. Marvin nods with tears in his eyes, then leaves. Whizzer murmurs the shema and falls asleep.

When he wakes up he makes a decision. No more tears. No more terror. No more. He swears on his mother’s life that he will not be afraid, that he will push through and welcome death like a new friend. He will play pretend beautifully and hope that the house is not brought down. He falls back to sleep with an air of nonchalance. He can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is drawing to a close and i dont like it


	30. in the aeroplane over the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'did you see the burning hell that took your baby brother?'

His last moments flash by. He remembers touching the kid’s shoulder, whispering that he loves him. He remembers the look in the kid’s eyes as he registers the poignancy of the moment. He remembers smiling to the kid and using his last tiny morsels of energy to walk into the next room. He can hear the kid’s reading as he leans on the wall, pulling himself over to the window. He grips as hard as he can to the windowsill and looks out of Mount Sinai Beth Israel Hospital. Looks over the river. To Brooklyn. He can almost see Brighton Beach. His eyes snap shut. 

A summer’s day. A young girl in a pink dress running towards the sea. A younger boy in a green shirt behind her, stumbling over his own feet, giggling. Hot sand on small feet. Salt spray on soft faces. Laughing to the point of tears. A breathless yelp of a name. 

“Micah!” 

And the world goes black. 

///////

She was the one who found him on the ground. She was the one held him as he slipped in and out. Cupped his face as it burnt with fever, pressed her lips to his red-hot forehead, pushed his hair out of his face when the sweat made it stick. Begged him not to leave. Begged G-d not to take him. Watched his eyes glaze over. Heard him whisper his last words, something in Hebrew, something soft. Moved away and let Marvin hold him as he left for good. Backed off. Out the door.

Now, she walks in a trance. Slowly. Tentative, but heavy steps. She has no concept of how slow or fast she’s walking, can’t recall her route, can’t remember her movements, but she gets where she wanted to go. The park. She’s laying on the frozen grass once more, staring up at the stars. She’s partially frozen. Ice on her eyelashes. Tears freeze as they run down her cheeks.   
She wonders how many years it’s been. Fifteen? Less? More? Lord only knows. She tries to remember the last time she was here. Remembers the kiss. The crying. No. Don’t focus on that. What came before? Laughter. A boy, a kind, sweet, funny boy in a letterman jacket with his nose pushed up. She remembers that stupid face so clearly. It still makes her laugh, even through the tears. She laughs and laughs and laughs. Opens her eyes. Looks up. Calls out. A shrill, half-pained half-joyful whoop. She doesn’t need to use proper words. She knows he’ll understand. 

///////

Exactly five years later she roams the same park in the fading light. It’s mostly deserted. The cruisers are just beginning to appear, making small talk, fiddling with hankies which they can’t decide weather to put in their pockets or not yet. Some of them recognise her. Nod to her. Ask about the memorial. Tell her the latest to go. Take her hand and tell her how lucky she was, that they modelled for him, that he was wonderful. She smiles. Thanks them. Tells them to come over tonight and to be safe this evening. They smile back. She walks away. Turns, and sees him.

A small, awkward-looking kid in a too-big letterman jacket. Curly hair. Biting his lip. Clearly freezing. Seated on the park bench with a hanky knotted around his knuckles. She feels a tug on her heart. It compels her to walk over to him. Sit down. Tell him good evening. He stammers it back. Asks him his name. 

“M-Matt. Mattityahu.”   
“Nice to meet you, Mattiush. I’m Delia.” She adds the -ush so he knows. So he feels safe. It works. He smiles cautiously.  
“You’re Jewish?”  
“You could say that.” She smiles. “What’re you up to, Mattiush?”  
“Uh- just- waiting.”  
“For a hustler?” That was too sudden. He suddenly looks terrified. She curses herself and tries to reassure him: “no, it’s okay! I get it! I- wanna help.”  
“Help?”  
“Do you have somewhere to stay? Somewhere to sleep? To eat? If no guy comes, will you have a place to go?” He looks overwhelmed. Stammers a bit. Takes a deep breath.  
“No. I won’t.”  
“I thought not.” They look at each other for a moment. He’s nervous. She’s confident.  
“Okay. That’s okay. I can help. I can get you food. I can get you somewhere safe to stay. Somewhere to get you back on your feet. Does that sound okay to you?”   
“That sounds… Great. Thank you, ma’am.” He’s sweet. She puts her hand on his shoulder and promises him that everything will be fine. As they walk away the hanky lies on the bench. Forgotten. 

///////

She walks home from the queer youth shelter in the dark.

Somewhere in Brooklyn, two teenagers are laughing together.

Somewhere on the upper east side, a father and his son are grieving.

Somewhere downtown, a woman is lighting a yahrzeit candle and holding back tears.

Somewhere in an office in a hospital near the shore, an ex-psychiatrist is signing the paperwork which will make him legally licensed to practice child psychology.

Somewhere else in a hospital near the shore, a doctor is telling a teenage boy he’s clean, he’s okay.

Somewhere in the future there is hope.

///////

‘When we meet on a cloud I’ll be laughing out loud- I’ll be laughing with everyone I can see. I can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all.’

///////

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all he wrote. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQSdpoI42hs
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wabrnt1MVVQ
> 
> this has been cathartic for me. i hope you enjoyed it. if you want more content from this 'verse or if you did enjoy it please leave a comment. it means more than you know.
> 
> much love.
> 
> aaron x


End file.
